


It Isn't Like It Used to Be

by fierathefangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:03:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierathefangirl/pseuds/fierathefangirl
Summary: Reader comes back from hell where her punishment was to be tortured by Sam (with whom she was in a relationship before she was in hell) and she slowly builds back up her trust of him.





	It Isn't Like It Used to Be

You take a deep breath. You’re standing in front of the motel room door that Sam and Dean are staying in for the case they’re working on, trying to muster up the courage to knock. They haven’t seen you in months. You haven’t seen them in decades. Time passes a lot slower in hell.

Hesitantly, you knock on the door. Softly at first, and then a little more confidently. You can just imagine the boys inside, exchanging looks and wondering who’s visiting them at this time of night. It takes a few moments before the lock on the door clicks open and the door opens a bit.

It’s Dean. You’re glad it’s him and not the other brother because you’re not sure if you can handle seeing him yet.

He just stands there, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with something to say.

“Dean,” you say softly, starting to reach out for him.

He closes the door in your face.

You’re standing there in shock, wondering what to do next, when the door reopens in another moment and you’re splashed with water. You splutter and make an irritated noise but at least now you understand. Holy water. He’s making sure you’re actually you. But couldn’t he have at least given you a little more warning?  Dean grabs your hand, and, pulling out a silver knife, gives you a quick cut on the side of your wrist.

“Ouch!” you yelp, pulling away.

“Y/N?” he asks, his voice cracking. He looks at the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think… I didn’t think it could actually be you. I had to make sure you weren’t a shifter or something worse.”

In less than a second, he’s stepped forward and you’re wrapped in his warm embrace. You don’t even bother trying to stop the tears from streaking down your face.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Dean whispers, giving you a squeeze before letting you go. You look up at him with a wavering smile, wiping at the wet trails on my cheeks, and notice his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

Someone else comes up behind Dean. “Dean?” the familiar voice asks. Sam. “Who is–” He cuts off once comes into view and sees it’s you. You try your best not to flinch or run away. He is–or at least  _was–_ your boyfriend, after all, and you should at least  _try–_

He steps forward to give you a hug and you forget everything you were trying to assure yourself of. You whimper and back up quickly until you’re pressed against the wall across from their door, as far away from Sam as you can get.

You’re hit with instant guilt when you see the hurt expression on his face. He bites his lip and turns away, trying to hold back his hurt. “Sam,” you say softly, and, trying to push down your fear, you approach him and wrap your arms around him.

He whispers your name and hugs you back. You look up to him and he bends down to give you a kiss. You can feel the tears on his cheeks. Still, it’s all you can do not to push him away. You’re scared. You’re scared of  _him_. You never thought it would happen, but then again, you’d never considered what would happen in hell.

He had been torturer down there. Or at least his face was the one that the demons wore when they tortured you. At first, you had known it wasn’t him. It was just a demon trying to get to you, trying to make you as miserable as possible physically and emotionally. But after a while, you came to associate that face with the worst pain you had ever known, and it became hard to connect the image of love of your life with happiness and warm memories.

“What is it?” Sam asks, pulling away but still slipping his hands into yours. “You’re shaking.”

It’s true. You’re trembling uncontrollably. Just being this close to Sam is just about unbearable.

“I think you’re making her uncomfortable, Sam,” Dean says softly, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Sam drops your hands and tries to hide his pained expression again. “I don’t–what happened down there that you’re afraid of me?”

Your eyes concentrated on anywhere but his face, you say softly. “I think you know.”

“I was… I mean… the demons made themselves look like me?”

You nod.

Sam curses and turns away from you.

Dean gives you another hug and pulls you into the room, shutting the door behind you. “It’s going to be okay.”

Your tears before had been calm, just gently streaming down your face, but now you started to sob into Dean’s shirt. You say just loud enough so the older brother can hear you, “It’s not going to be okay. He loves me.  _I_  love  _him_. I know I still do, it’s just…”

“Shhh, it’s going to be fine,” Dean murmurs, rubbing your back. From the peripheral of your attention, you notice Sam grab his jacket and leave.

That night, Dean holds you until you’re done crying and then gently sets you down once you fall asleep leaning against him. You’re conscious enough just for a moment to be aware of him putting a blanket over top of you before you’re completely out again.

Fortunately your sleep is dreamless. Nightmares are a thousand times worse when they’re memories.

When you wake up in the morning, you don’t see Sam around. You’re not quite sure how you feel about that. You sit up in bed, a blanket draped over your shoulders, and replay everything that happened last night over and over in your mind. Dean notices you’re awake and walks over to you, handing you a paper cup of hot coffee.

“Where’s Sam?” you ask him.

“He went out,” Dean says vaguely. “He didn’t want to stress you out.”

You bite your lip and turn away. “Sorry.”

Dean sits down on the bed across from you. “Hey,” he says, and you look up at him. “It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize.” He stands up and pats you on the shoulder before going over to look at the papers tacked up all over the wall for the case the boys are working on.

You stand up too and wander over next to Dean, your coffee in your hands and the blanket still over your shoulders. “What are you dealing with?” you ask.

“A ghost. Just the usual thing. We just have to find out who it is and then do a salt-and-burn before we’re out of here.”

“Can I help?”

Dean looks over at you incredulously. “Are you kidding? No way. You’re not helping. You’re going to get some rest, okay?”

“Dean,” you say, looking him in the eye. “I want my mind to be busy so I don’t have to think about being in the pit, okay? And… I think hunting would do that for me. Maybe I can…” You look away. “Maybe I can try to rebuild what I had with Sam, too.”

Dean looks at you for a moment with such intensity that you want to disappear. “Fine,” he says finally. “But if I think you’re not up to par on an emotional level, then–”

“Dean,” you interrupt. “You’ve been to hell. You know how coming back is. There’s nothing you want to do more than just some regular, old hunts. Nice and simple. Salt and burn. I  _am_ going to be ‘emotionally up to par,’ as you so eloquently put it.  _You_  were.”

He sighs. “I guess you have a point.”

“Yeah. I do.”

And that’s how, an hour later, you’re standing outside the house of a family that reported something ghost-like happening in their house. You’re in a suit and with a fake FBI badge in your pocket. Dean is on one side of you, Sam on the other. You still can’t help trembling nervously when he’s around, but you’re starting to get better at hiding it.

Sam had joined you and Dean just a few minutes before. He gave no explanation on where he’d been, but based on the circles under his eyes and the way he kept wincing in pain when there were loud noises nearby, you guessed he’d been out drinking and was now really hung over.

“How about you show me around the rest of the house, my two partners will take a look around this room, if that’s all right,” Dean suggests to Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, after the three of you have been chatting with them for a few minutes.

The thought of being alone in a room with Sam makes your heart skip a beat, and you quickly stutter out, “I-I’ll come with you, actually.”

Sam clenches his jaw and looks away but Dean looks understanding after his initial surprise.

You have similar reactions for the rest of the case, which stretches out for more than a week. Sometimes Sam will move too fast or too suddenly and you’ll flinch. Other times he’ll say things in such a way that it reminds you of your time in hell and you have to hold back tears. By the end of the week Sam’s not saying very much, he’s careful about his movements, and he spends as little time in the same room with you as possible. He goes out every night, leaving just you and Dean to share the motel room.

Finally, you’re ready to go to the graveyard to dig up a body. Sam passed off the shovels to Dean when he saw the expression on your face at seeing him with something that could be used as a weapon. Now he’s just carrying the flashlight. You have an iron crowbar in one hand and a rock-salt-round-filled shotgun in the other.

Once you find the right grave, Sam and Dean do the shoveling while you stand there, shotgun in hand. The iron crowbar is off to the side, easily within reach of the two boys in case the ghost shows up.

And show up it does.

The ghost is that of a young woman, about college age. She’s wearing a gray hoodie and jeans, and it would be hard to tell she’s even a ghost if it weren’t for the fact that she’s screeching and flying towards you. You fire a a shot and she disappears momentarily.

“Keep digging!” you shout at Sam and Dean after they look up at you in worry.

The ghost appears somewhere else and you fire off your second shot. She disappears again. You’ve started to reload when you hear her in front of you, some distance off. You glance up for a second and it causes you to drop the two rounds you’re holding.

You swear under your breath as you lean down to pick them up. You estimate you might be able to load and fire just quick enough.

But you’re not. The ghost is right in front of you when you straighten back up. You managed reload but there’s just not enough time to defend yourself. The ghost hisses and grips your throat in her icy-cold fingers.

Her grip is strong and the world is starting to blur at the edges in only moments. You flail, trying to free yourself from her before you’re as dead as she is. Everything is almost entirely black—

And then something whooshes through her and the ghost turns into smoke. You drop to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath. Sam is standing there, breathing heavily, the crowbar in hand.

He saved your life.

You’ll have to thank him later, though. There’s still a ghost around.

“I’m done!” Dean shouts, opening up the coffin and clambering out of the hole that he and Sam have dug. I pick up the gasoline, Sam gets the salt, and together we pour both of our materials over the desiccated body.

Dean strikes a book of matches alight and tosses it in the grave just as the ghost woman materializes next to him. She starts to reach before him before she screams, and both she and the shriek dissolve.

All of you stand there for a moment before you turn to Sam next to you.

“Thanks,” you say softly, standing up on your toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

When you step away, he’s grinning hugely.

You notice, then, that his face doesn’t remind you of the pain you endured in hell as much as it did when you first returned. You’ve started to remember your relationship from before, all the kisses and nights on the hood of the Impala looking at the stars, and the warmth of him next to you while you fell asleep. You’re still not totally over your time in the pit, but you’re on your way being there.

* * *

 

It takes three months and five hunts, but finally you’re ready to talk to Sam.

You and him went out to get dinner. Dean had opted to stay behind, probably to watch porn or do something else that you really didn’t want to be around for.

You’re sitting across from Sam in a diner, picking at your burger. “Sam,” you say after the two of you have been sitting there in silence for a few minutes.

“Mm?” he says, swallowing what he’s chewing on and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah?”

You keep your eyes focused on the burger on your plate. “I just wanted to talk about… to talk about  _us_.”

“Oh.”

You look up to see his expression. It’s carefully blank. You keep looking at him and continue. “I think… my time in hell, what I experienced there… it ruined everything we had. For me, I mean. But… I don’t think all of what we had was gone, ever. I just needed to recover, you know? And… I think I finally have.”

His expression still isn’t giving anything away, and you look back down at your burger. The top bun is now little more than a pile of crumbs from all your nervous picking at it. “I want us to be what we were. Before… all that.”

You don’t want to see the look on his face. It’s probably nothing good. “I’d understand if you don’t want to pick up back where we left off, after everything I’ve put you through, but…” You struggle to get the words out as you meet his eyes again. “I love you.”

The diner’s pretty much empty, but he says, carefully monotone, “Can we go outside?”

You nod and stand up. Sam tosses a twenty down on the table and you follow him outside.

When you reach the completely empty parking lot, Sam stops and turns around. You expect him to be furious. To tell you to get lost for treating him the way you did. To say you’ve hurt him too much for too long. To admit he doesn’t love you anymore.

But instead, he just has a gentle, loving look on his face. He whispers your name and holds a hand up to your cheek. You lean into it and put your hand over his. “I love you, too,” he says softly, before leaning down to kiss you.

It’s your first kiss since the one when you first got back from hell, but this one isn’t faked. This one has all the passionate emotions Sam has been keeping pent up for the past three months and an apologetic love from you for not being able to return his feelings for so long. This kiss is real.

* * *

 

When you walk back into the motel room an hour later, your fingers intertwined with Sam’s, Dean turns off the TV and stands up to greet you.

But when he sees you holding hands, he stops. Then he smiles. “Finally,” he says with a grin.


End file.
